


honey, i'm potent

by oblivioluna



Category: Purple Hyacinth (Webcomic)
Genre: Aftermath of Everything, BECAUSE I AM AN AMBITIOUS IDIOT, Exes to Lovers, F/M, I want my happy ending, Idiots in Love, Multi, Post-Canon, YES I KNOW I'M PREDICTING THE ENDING AFTER SEASON 1 ONLY, accidentally a royals! au i don't know how we got here, honk honk!, i'm not just a clown i'm the entire circus, much angst, much fluff, now, post-ph fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23793484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oblivioluna/pseuds/oblivioluna
Summary: Kieran has left, for the most part, a bloody trail in the wake of his footsteps. Perhaps that is why it is so difficult, then, to wash all of it off and repair what he has broken - because for six years of his life, all he has known is how to ruin, not rebuild.He wishes he could repair it all.He wishes he could ask her to stay by his side.He does not.____(Or the one where everything should work out, and then it doesn't.)
Relationships: Background Relationships Appear, Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White
Comments: 13
Kudos: 116





	1. i wrote it down when i first met you

**Author's Note:**

> _There will be time, there will be time /To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;  
>  There will be time to murder and create, / And time for all the works and days of hands  
> That lift and drop a question on your plate; / Time for you and time for me,  
> And time yet for a hundred indecisions, / And for a hundred visions and revisions,  
> Before the taking of a toast and tea. ___  
>  _  
>  **-THE LOVE SONG OF J. ALFRED PRUFROCK, T.S ELIOT ******  
>  _
> 
> **important note: if you haven’t noticed by now, this is a post-ph fanfic.  
>  **year XX28 is one year after the phantom scythe has been brought down/the monarchy as well, since the current timeline within ph is XX27.  
> ****  
>  (The title comes from Years and Years's 'Lucky Escape'.)

**september 17th, XX28**

They first meet in the hallway.

“I didn’t see you there,” Lauren blurts out, a light bemusement coming over the features of her face. Kieran chuckles nervously as she bends over to pick up the papers in her hands. Her hair is in a thick braid today, a clip pinning back the auburn bangs that usually frame her face. Ever since they occupied the castle, Ardhalis’s resources have become their resources, and so his ex-partner in crime has taken to wearing suits crafted out of velvet and silk, alongside the occasional floor-length gown. Today’s outfit is a dark velvet red, fitting perfectly over the seams of her body.

It reminds Kieran of fresh blood pooling over flower patches.

The thought isn’t morbid in his mind; to any normal mind, it would be.

To him, it merely brings thoughts of passion accompanying it. She’s more relaxed these days, her gold eyes less weary with the lines midnight chases and almost-deaths bring.

He supposes he’s responsible for some of those.

“Going out?” she says, motioning to his coat. Kieran’s habit is well known by her; she knows he favors wearing ankle-length coats at this point, and this one is no different, but made out of a dark black material, bordering on formal dress, even. Belladonna is meeting him in one of the cafes today. It’s her first day out of tenure, and the 7th precinct reduced her sentence to house arrest and free range a kilometer outside her apartment after hearing her testimony at Ardhalis’s upper court. 

“As you can see,” he says, trying for a smirk. It fails. “Don’t overwork yourself, off--”

She isn’t an officer anymore. Kieran mentally kicks himself at the use of her old nickname, and neither is she a detective, since Hermann had broken his promise before he’d even gotten to make it. Typical of the bastard. It’s a shame he wasn’t at the end of his blade before his life ended.

“Forgive me. _Your Majesty,_ now, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Lauren says, breath hitching slightly in her throat, as if a weight has blanketed her shoulders. “Well. Not quite yet. The coronation’s in a week. My uncle’s coming back from his trip to the north soon.”

Silence gathers dust between them, as if they’ve lost sight of where to go from here.

Admittedly, Kieran thinks, they lost sight of ‘normal’ a long time ago.

“Well, I’d better go,” she says hurriedly, rushing past him. “I’ll--”

“We’ll talk later,” he says, snatching her wrist. “Friends, right?”

_I didn’t want you to leave, and you did anyway._

“Friends,” she promises, but her eyes don’t match her smile.

____

**december 8th, XX27**

Lauren feels the thud of bodies in the hallway as she fires her pistol, hair whipping around her like a beacon in the darkness of the abandoned church. Golden bullets crash to the ground as she strikes the two men running towards her, and they both fly back in a spray of blood that decorates the white tiles in the hallways. The colored glass mosaics within the walls have cracks in them, and cast infractions onto her face, illuminating her rising panic; the impending thrill that comes from an adrenaline rush.

One man groans from the side of the hallway, raising a hand to steady himself. In a flash, she’s over next to him, gripping his collar and tugging him up, ignoring his protests as the blood on his stomach continues to flow. 

“Where is he,” she snarls, eyes as piercing as a tiger’s in the shadows. “Where is _he?!_ ”

“The - the third floor of this cathedral,” he coughs out, grinning mirthlessly. “You won’t find him alive in time, though--”

A bullet through his brain silences him permanently.

Lauren kicks at the bodies blocking her path to the locked doors in front of her.

The eighth and tenth Apostles, dead at her hand.

The satisfaction she was waiting for at the end of her revenge doesn’t come. She knows this keenly, even as she teeters on the edge of answers. The truth hurts more than anything, because in part, her revenge was all a lie. 

And there is no comfort in lies.

Gray eyes, white hair.

_I’ve been waiting for you._

She kicks open the door, frantically pulling at the chains that close the handles. Down the lengthy hallway is an ascending staircase, and Lauren feels the rhythm of her heartbeat drum against her ears as she scurries up the cathedral, desperately hoping that her partner in crime won’t be dead by the time she gets there.

Water splashes underneath her feet; there must be a leak somewhere. The next place she enters into is a large, vaulted area filled with rows and rows of benches, a chandelier with cobwebs dangling up high. The entire place stinks of rot and musty mold. 

Miles away from her rests a man in dark robes, eyes glinting with anticipation.

Lauren resists the urge to hurl as she points her pistol at him - one remaining bullet left. Tears sting at the corner of her eyes, and she resists the urge to wipe them away. She’s gone through hell to get here - hell to save the one thing she’d wanted to protect for a long time, and now, might just fall at the hands of someone else she once wanted to protect. 

The irony of it all hits her like a truck.

_I loved you once. When we ran through fields of daisies, when we played with lilies of the valley and the summer sky hung above us like our shelter._

The man sighs, raising a hand.

“Don’t do this, Ren.”

“Tell me where he is, Dylan.” Her hands are shaking. “Tell me where he is, or I’ll bring you and the entire Phantom Scythe down with one shot.”

“You’re acting like we’re on opposite sides,” he says, stepping towards her. His white hair is disheveled, falling out of its ponytail. “We’re not. You know as well as I do that the monarchy is responsible for everything this city has faced in recent years. _She_ created this entire faction borne out of bloodlust to keep power, Ren! And you still stand there as if you agree with her - agree that I wanted to take up this mantle.”

“I know what you went through.” The tears are coming hot and fast now, salt on her lips. “I know that you and him went through so much more than I could possibly imagine.”

“So,” he says softly, close enough to stroke her face, “why are we still here?”

Lauren’s pistol connects with his forehead.

“Time to go, Ren.”

_Ren._

“You’ve - you were gone for so _long--_ ”

“I’m here now.”

“Then why did you _do this to me?!_ ” she shouts, clamping her hands on his shoulders, bending down in agony. All she can see is his pained smile, and too late, notices the dagger glinting in the light at his pocket.

“I didn’t want to.”

She isn’t the one that causes Dylan Rosenthal’s fall from grace. 

In he comes from the windows like an avenging angel, sword thunking through the Leader of the Phantom Scythe’s midriff like a baton, causing him to fall silently to the floor, dagger clattering out of his pale hands. Lauren winces as the sun hits her eyes, illuminating a man coated in blood, dressed in a torn white shirt and black pants. She quivers, not daring to let go of the pistol for one second as Kieran brushes away the hair from her face, blood staining her cheek as he does so. 

His fingers are warm.

“Hello, love.”

Lauren bursts into nervous laughter, feeling the gun drop from her fingers as she crashes into him, lips meeting his, their tears mingling, the salt and sugar of love.

In hindsight, their kiss should’ve been the start of a new era.

_____

It wasn’t.

____

**september 27th, XX28**

She misses him.

Kieran White has been a constant presence in her life for only a year, and yet, it’s as if he’s haunted her heart forever. He’s been coming and going more recently, and even though Will visits her once a week, it isn’t quite enough to quell the loneliness at bay. The castle isn’t enormous by any means, but it still echoes when she speaks to herself within the hallways. Her hand brushes over an old photograph they took together at the circus; when they were still working on cracking the case of the Phantom Scythe.

Things were simpler back then. Well, not quite, because both of them constantly risked death’s neck, and then there had been the whole bombing incident to deal with after - before the cathedral, at least. Allendale 2.0, the newspapers had said. _Unfortunate tragedy at city ball._

It’s easier knowing how to solve problems with a gun in your hand, not a crown.

She’s bound by duty. It isn’t as if someone else can whisk up a princess as an heir to the throne. Lauren was one of the few surviving children of the upper-class with ties to the monarchy, and so a deal was made.

And even though Kieran is a prince by blood, she’d never dare ask him.

He has too much in his head associated with this place that has brought him only pain. He couldn’t possibly stand by her side, how could he?

They’re not together anymore, anyhow. It doesn’t matter.

She sighs, back against the wall. It should’ve been fixed. Their relationship, anyhow. But two people who have known nothing but each other’s personas when on the run and with weapons in their hands aren’t necessarily the healthiest people for each other when everything is at peace and normal.

Two puzzle pieces not suited to each other at all - she’d just pretended they were.

A knocking sounds at the foyer doors, and she rushes to get them. The surprise is visible on her face as she sees him standing there, hair out of its familiar bun for once. It falls just short of his shoulders, undone and ruffled like raven feathers. 

“Lost your hairtie?” comes out of her mouth before she can stop herself from making a witty retort.

“Maybe,” he says, glancing around him. “Missed me?”

“Not in the slightest.” She opens the door wider. “Kym’s trial begins tomorrow. So much for a speedy process, although they didn’t seem to have that problem with your friend.”

“She has her connections,” Kieran says, and looks uneasy at the thought of Belladonna. Lauren slightly remarks the way he carries himself, as if his burdens have been lightened, but his steps seem heavier, and his eyes clouded over, as if he’s come to the same conclusion she has: _being away from you pains me._

_Being with you pains me more._

“Stay where you are,” she says abruptly, and leaves him in the foyer to disappear into another room. When she ventures back out with a white ribbon in her hands, he’s waiting still by the back of the foyer, coat in his hands. A bruise is over his lower neck, and Lauren pretends not to notice it as she motions for him to spin around. 

“I--” Hair instantly gets caught in his mouth, and Lauren bats at his face, sweeping his locks back.

“This is why you must tie it up so often,” she says, quickly braiding it and tying the ends with the ribbon. “It’s getting longer, too. Heard of scissors, Kieran?”

“What’s that?” he quips, and she snorts, pulling at the bow. Fot a second, they’re back to their usual selves, before everything happened between them.

And then their glass shelves shatter, and they’re left with nothing left to cling to.

“Well,” Lauren breathes, “I have a small thing to attend to--”

“I know,” he says, mouth twitching upwards. She doesn’t watch as she turns her back on him, flats clacking against the palace tiles as she ascends the first floor, shuttering herself in her room. Five seconds place the phone on the wall into her hands, and ten have her dialing a number more familiar to her than her own skin.

“Lauren? Everything okay?” rings Will’s voice from the other side of the phone.

“Not really,” she says, mouth dry. “Can we talk?”

____

**january 1st, XX27**

The former Sergeant of the Patrol Unit of the 11th precinct sits behind bars.

The former top assassin of the Phantom Scythe cradles her in his arms, callused hands stroking her hair. Waiting is torture, but she’ll do it for Kym, and it’s far less lonely with Kieran around. His right hand slides over her lip, far larger than her own. Lauren’s fingers interlock with his, circling a motion over his palm, as if he’s the one that needs comfort at the moment.

“She’s not going to be happy to see me.”

“I’ll prevent her from killing you,” Lauren says, leaning into his touch like that of a woman who has been starved for affection for ten years straight. “I need you to come with me, anyhow. When she gets a trial in court, you’ll be her alibi.”

“She made a terrible spy,” he scoffs. “Ladell was the most loyal in the 11th. Only held up her end of the bargain with the Scythe because of her past.”

“Phrase that differently in court, will you?”

“And lose all my charm? You wound me, love.”

“As if you had any charm in the first place,” she grumbles, but softens when Kieran nudges against her shoulder, like a puppy seeking rewards from his owner. A very tall, annoying and charismatic dark-haired puppy with a sword still strapped to his waist. 

No shame whatsoever. Absolutely none, in broad daylight. The pardon he’d gotten only extends so far, but he doesn’t even bother to walk on eggshells like she’d asked him to.

“Sinclair?” one of the officers says, motioning to the door behind them. “She’s here.”

Lauren bats his arm. “It’s time, sleepyhead.”

Kieran jolts awake comically, but as they enter into Kym’s cell, their hands never leave each other.

____

**september 28th, XX28**

He's waiting for her by the bridge.

Will’s dressed in civilian clothing, a dark coat hanging over his frame, hiding peeks of a baby blue vest and dress pants underneath. If Lauren hadn’t known him better by now, she’d have surmised he went somewhere awfully fancy - but knows somewhere in her heart he went to visit Kym. Today’s two days from his mother’s death last year, and she sees it in his eyes.

She raises a hand in greeting, and so does he. The bridge is filled with civilians milling around on afternoon walks and whatnot, and the first signs of fall have become to come in the form of leaves swirling around their feet like fire and gold. Lauren hears the whispers around her circulate, but she’s used to them by now, and blocks them out as they get louder the second she stands next to Will, watching the boats pass by underneath the canal below them, slicing through cold water with their sharp tips.

“You don’t look so good.”

“Neither do you,” she quips, and they both manage a smile. Lauren’s elbow brushes against his, in a familiar gesture of amity. She hangs her head, watching her ponytail slide to the side. 

“Why are friendships so hard?”

“It’s Kieran, isn’t it?”

“What gave it away?” she groans into her hands, leaning on the side of the railing.

Will is silent for far too long, and when Lauren next looks up at him, he’s looking down at her, blue eyes filled with warmth - and a warning note. For her. She knows what he’s going to say next, or at least she thinks she knows what he’s going to say next.

“Do you remember the training academy?” he asks, watching a child and their mother pass by. “When we trained together, and when the time came for shooting simulations.”

“It’s hard to forget,” she says, whistling in the cold air. “But yes. The point being…?”

“Look down.”

All Lauren sees is a boat making its way through the canal, tarp covering several boxes worth of trade goods. When Will next tells her to look up, he’s passing something made of cool metal into her hand, and her eyes widen in shock as she realizes what he’s given her.

“This--”

_Smith and Wesson,_ reads the silver bullet. _XX23._

“You wouldn’t let go of that cursed pistol,” he recalls, chuckling under his breath a little. “When we first did simulations, that would always be your favorite weapon. And even when it stopped working, you still clung onto it. Like a child to a toy.”

Her hand curls over the metal. 

“The point being?” she asks again, mouth dry. A hand covers her own, and she looks up to see him standing there, eyes boring into her own.

“The point being,” he repeats, “is that you have to let _go_.”

The water reminds her of the color of Dylan’s eyes; except darker and far deeper than the shade of his irises.

“We’re not like that anymore.”

“I see the way you look at him, Lauren. He left--”

“Yes, he did!” she exclaims. “He left, and left me behind in the dust. After everything we went through.”

“You can’t save everyone,” he says sternly.

“I’m not saving him. He did that to himself. I just--”

“Laur,” he says, voice tinged with sadness. “You let go of Dylan. Now it’s time to let go of the past, and move forward again. I know you can.”

The bullet presses into the palm of her hand.

For so long, she was a woman who built her identity on lies. And then those lies were exposed, and the truth let out of its cage, and she nearly fell to pieces, were it not for everyone around her - and yes, him. And now, he is gone, and she is still stuck in the past, attempting to go back once more while everyone moves forward.

What can she do if--

Lauren clutches the bullet between her index finger and her thumb, hovering it kilometers above the water.

She didn’t have a crown before. She didn’t have any of this before. 

She owes it to try, at least.

Inhale, exhale.

The bullet falls to the water without making a single splash, descending into the depths below, going down, down, down.

____

(And so it begins.)

____

**february 20th, XX27**

Kym raises two glasses and a bottle in the other hand. “It’s Thursday.”

“You just reminded me,” Lauren says, closing the binder on her desk shut. “How’d you even procure wine in here, anyhow?”

“Bribed the guards,” she says with a cheeky smile, motioning for Lauren to sit next to her at the foot of her bed. The cell the former Lieutenant has been granted can barely be called a cell - and it’s thanks to Tristan that it ended up that way. She’d convinced her uncle to make arrangements for her friend while imprisoned, and he’d done so for the first and last time. Nepotism isn’t her style, after all.

She swirls the crimson liquid in the crystal glass, watching light spark off of it. “You do know this doesn’t count as a wine night, right?”

“Technicalities,” she says, waving a hand.

Lauren cocks an eyebrow. “It’s twelve in the afternoon.”

“Whoops, my clock must’ve broken.”

“Don’t pull that card,” she teases, slapping Kym’s shoulder, laughing. 

“Well, you were working too hard on my case,” she says. “You’re still in detective mode after all these years, which doesn’t surprise me!”

“Eh. Old habits die hard.”

“Then we have to make them die harder,” Kym says as one of the doors leading to the cell opens. Lauren sits up in shock as she sees a pair of blue eyes peeking out from behind the metal. “Does having him being here help?”

_“Kym!”_

“No more than one visitor at a time,” warns the guard by the door. Kym rolls her eyes, nudging Lauren off the bed.

“Go. You’ve already spent two hours here already.”

“I hate you,” she calls behind her.

“No you don’t!” Kym shouts her way before the cell door closes shut, wine still in her hand.

“I apologize if she dragged you over here,” Lauren says, scratching at her neck. Kieran is still staring at her with that odd look in his eyes, as if he can’t quite make out what’s standing in front of him - her in a loose dress that pools over her knees, hair half-down, clipped back with a simple pin. At ease. Out of uniform. 

A flush rises to her cheeks involuntarily. He’s seen her in casual clothing and dress both; this is nothing new--

“There’s no need to apologize, _mon amour_ ,” he replies, eyes sparkling with mirth. “I hate that I’ve interrupted your weekly sessions.”

“You’re looking at me like that again,” she blurts out, crossing her arms as they begin walking towards the front of the station.

“Should I look at you any differently?” he says, looping his pinky finger over hers. “People won’t necessarily scream if we announce we’re publicly dating.”

“You know what I mean,” she mutters into her scarf as she slides on her coat, Kieran wrapping it around her shoulders.

“Afraid I don’t.”

“You little--” She bites down on a retort. _“C’est embarrassant.”_

_“Tu sais tu l’aimes.”_

“Unfortunately,” she says, linking her hand with his. “How on earth am I supposed to get rid of you now?”

“You don’t.”

“Knew that already,” she sighs, opening the door and feeling the winter air hit her skin. “Maybe it won’t be so bad having you around, White.”

“You flatter me,” he says, body contorting into the mockery of a bow as she shudders with laughter.

____

**september 29th, XX28**

She’s never changed, even after a year of practically becoming an exalted figurine in Ardharlis’s history.

The woman’s head is bowed by the hearth, firelight turning her auburn hair into a sharp red, casting shadows over her face. Her nightgown unfurls like a white lily at her feet, and papers are littered at the base of her feet, a book resting in her hand. Annotations written in Lauren’s cramped hand are everywhere; he can see that even while standing here from a distance. Watching her in the dark feels like something he’d do back when they were partners in crime - when he’d known he loved her from the start but could never lie to her about it, so quips and witty jokes were his language of secrecy.

_My my officer, my heart is all aflutter._

_Have you finally fallen for me, officer?_

_I hope you missed me._

“I hope you missed me,” he repeats under his breath, and gathers the courage to step into the darkened library.

“Hello, Your Majesty.”

Her head whips around, golden eyes widening in shock.

“Y - You’re not supposed to be _here--_ ”

“Your uncle invited me along for the trial,” he says, suddenly feeling very small in her presence. “I didn’t think you’d be here either. Forgive my forwardness, but you’re usually cooped up in your room over a think board at this hour.”

“Staying overnight?” she says, lips pursed. “I suppose it can’t be helped.” The book in her hands snaps shut. 

“You should really get reading glasses. It’s dark in here.”

“Oh, so now you’re talking to me after ignoring me for a week?” she spits out, bristling. Kieran frowns, body taut with the familiar feeling of a fight.

“I wasn’t the one that caused that, was I?”

“You’re rarely in the castle anymore. I don’t think that has anything to do with my fault.”

“I wasn’t aware we had to be with each other around the clock,” he says dangerously quietly. “And you were the one that kept brushing off my attempts to meet with you over plans for Ardhalis’s new reign.”

Lauren slides her hands down her face, shadows flickering over her eyes. 

“We said we’d try,” she says, sighing as she sits down in a chair, leaning back.

“We did.”

She exhales loudly. “Look. I don’t mind us working together one last time before the trial tomorrow, but I want us to at least be amicable with each other. Do you think that’s possible?”

Kieran dips his head.

“I don’t hate you, Lauren.”

“Neither I you,” she says, eyes peeking out from behind her fingers. She raises her left hand towards him, palm splayed outwards.

“Truce?”

He takes it.

Like she’d taken his so long ago. It’s only been a year, and yet it feels like decades.

“Truce.”

____

**february 25th, XX27**

"Don't leave."

“I’m not,” Lauren murmurs into his shoulder, rolling around to grab her alarm clock on the shelf near her bed. She sits up, pulling her nightgown on; wrinkled from the night before. Her back is turned to him, but she can feel Kieran’s gaze inspecting every inch of her bare skin. The sheets are pooled at their feet; but he somehow manages to make no noise as he leaps up from his splayed out position, arms wrapping around her waist.

“Stay,” he mutters, the light casting over their forms, illuminating his hair sliding down over his shoulders. “You don’t have to visit the queen’s advisors for another hour or so.”

“I’ll be late,” she chuckles, poking at his stomach. “Don’t keep me, _chaton._ ”

“Must you leave so early? It’s pouring out.”

“I have my duties,” she says, and with great difficulty, squirms out of his grip. Kieran falls into a languid sitting position, still watching her tug on a charcoal blazer and matching pants. “Maybe I could see you later? After three hours of mind-numbing work, something else would be welcome in my book.”

“The bakery in the 9th precinct?” he suggests, fingers brushing over hers as she combs her hair, tying into a high ponytail. “It would certainly satisfy your sweet tooth.” 

“Don’t use that as blackmail against me when I ascend,” she remarks.

“Ah, yes, because I am the innocent one here after all,” Kieran says, gesturing to himself. “I can see the headlines now. _Ardhalis’s new seneschal, with a penchant for blueberry scones._ ”

“You torment me,” she says, flinging a pillow at him, which he catches with ease. Lauren bites down on her lip.

“They might want more from me, you know.”

“Meaning?”

“The aristocracy disappeared centuries ago, but the upper-class still has connections to the monarchy. They...might even consider me as a candidate for queen.”

Kieran is silent for a beat, then speaks, sliding on his usual grin. “Well, shouldn’t you be honored?”

“I want you by my side.”

She watches him freeze, worrying her teeth inside her mouth nervously. “You wouldn’t have to be a king instantly. A king consort, even, after what happened a year ago.”

“Laur,” he chokes out, “I don’t mind supporting you in the slightest, but it will take some time for me to even consider taking up my brother’s duties.”

The king and queen had a child, once. 

Two children, actually, one with hair like gold and the other with hair like night.

Night later became the darkness, and blood, and fear, due to the Phantom Scythe’s kidnappings. So had Dylan, after Allendale occured. After she’d thought he’d perished forever in fire.

“I understand.”

“Don’t--”

“No. I get it, and I’m sorry I even bothered asking,” she says in a rush, buttoning her blazer in the mirror rapidly, hands shaking. “We don’t have to meet later.”

“Forget it, _mon_ _bien-aim_ _é_ , ” he growls, pulling her close to him, foreheads touching. She stands taller than him standing up, but is still shorter than him with the slight heels she wears. “I always want to see you,” he murmurs, and something in her chest breaks. 

“We can talk about it later, alright?” he murmurs into the shape of her neck.

“Yeah. We can.”

____

**october 5th, XX28**

The Allendale high court, after two days of deliberation, decides to let Kym Ladell go free, but not without several months worth of community duty - due to her supposed lack of crimes done against the city and loyalty to the 11th precinct.

Lauren is beyond ecstatic when she exits the court. When she first sees the shock of blue hair poking out from behind Will, who’s hand is on her back as he guides her out, she instantly rushes over to embrace her, squeezing her tightly as she stands on her tiptoes to reach her neck.

“It’s thanks to you,” Kym whispers, and the corners of Lauren’s shirt dampen.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It wasn’t just me, it was you--”

“And him!”

Lauren’s stomach lurches as she sees Will and Kym go over to go greet Kieran - in tow with Belladonna, wearing a black dress and matching coat. She seems a bit weary, but politely greets the two as they thank Kieran for defending Kym in court. 

She is suddenly filled to the brim with a feeling of loss, as if she hasn’t belonged here in the first place.

_Everyone’s moving on, Sinclair._

“Your Majesty,” someone says behind her. “We should be heading back to the castle any time now.”

She should stay. She really should.

“Sure,” Lauren says, swallowing dryly. “Let’s go.”

____

**february 28th, XX27**

He’s beautiful. 

There’s no denying it anyhow - and this time around, she doesn’t have to deny it. The palace is filled with people, and she can see their stares fixate on him with something other than fear for once. Raven hair tied back into a ponytail, a three-piece tuxedo fitting neatly over his body. _The lost prince, come back at last._

And then his eyes catch sight of her, and the world stops spinning.

Lauren’s hair has been done up in a bun, pearls dotting her auburn hair; diamonds over her neck and ears. The gown she wears is sleeveless and the color of the midnight sky, glittering at her feet. They match, and since tonight is a special event, she supposes her dress is rather fitting for it, too.

_“Mon bien-aimé **.”** _

“Is ‘love’ out of fashion now?” she quips, putting her hand in his. 

“I suppose it is,” he says, looking at ease now that she's here with him. “I’m glad you’re here, Lauren, otherwise the wolves would’ve been on me by now.”

“They’re not afraid of you anymore, but that doesn’t mean they don’t regard you suspiciously. Even so, I won’t let anyone insult you.”

“How dashing of you. My knight in shining armor.”

“Please,” she says, mouth twitching upwards.

The waltz that starts up is a slow one, and she knows him well enough as he knows her to instantly gravitate towards each other, hands on each other’s hip and shoulder. They’ve done this before after all, but that was in the heat of the moment. This is different, and all too familiar. It all means something now, like it never has before. The violins crescendo into a high note, and he takes her around the room in a circle, stepping in rhythm with the melody. 

He looks happy.

Absurdly, truly _happy_ for once in his life.

Lauren swallows down her promise to talk about their problems later. It doesn’t have to be tonight, she reasons with herself. Tonight can just be the two of them enjoying each other’s presence.

The star showers are bright tonight; like beams of light crossing over an ocean of ink. A million miles away, crystals shine in the sky, illuminating the already-lit up city. It’s Lauren who leads him to one of the balconies first, tugging him by the hand.

“Once every hundred years,” she whispers in his ear, a sly grin tugging at the edges of her mouth. 

But when she pulls back, she realizes he isn’t looking at the stars.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, lips brushing over hers.

A comet somewhere up high explodes into light, and Lauren rests her head on his shoulder, watching the stars fall.

____

**october 10th, XX28**

It’s approximately eighteen days until her coronation, and Lauren’s nerves have started to get the better of her. She’s sure her uncle can tell, because when she sits down for their weekly breakfasts together, he immediately places a stack of pancakes layered high with butter in front of her. “You look like you haven’t slept in days,” is all he says. “Tell me what’s been going on.”

“Everything,” she mutters, dropping her fork after just five bites. Lauren rakes a hand through her hair, closing her eyes. 

“For starters, I don’t think Kieran wants to become king consort.”

“Well, I’m shocked,” Tristan says, blinking in surprise. “Even after—?”

“Even after everything we’ve been thr - well, it doesn’t matter now,” she says, looking down at the napkin in her lap. “I’ve known this for a while now. He’s been seeing Belladonna for the past month or so. I wouldn’t want to tear away that freedom from him. He deserves a say in whether or not he wants the crown.”

“Lauren.”

“Adjusting as the sole ruler will take some time, but it won’t be hard.”

“Lauren,” he asks, eyes full of concern. “Do you want this?”

Silence.

“It’s my duty.”

_“Lauren—”_

“I became a detective, and then an officer to protect people,” she says. “Ardhalis is due for a power vacuum that the king and queen and the Phantom Scythe are gone. Unless the monarchy is abolished altogether and someone steps in as ruler, I don’t think leaving would be the wisest decision.”

“You deserve a choice too.”

“Then this is what I choose,” she says quietly. 

_He left you._

_And I left him,_ she thinks.

“You’ve been through so much. And forgive me if I’m assuming things,” Tristan says slowly, raising his hands in a defensive gesture, “but you two seemed happy together. Even towards the end. And you looked...better. Like you’d let go of all your burdens for once.”

“I can’t let go of all of them,” she says, sipping her coffee. “But yes. We were happy.”

_Were._

A painful reminder of the fact that the second they laid down their arms, neither Lauren nor Kieran could become truly content with each other’s personas when the war ended.

She supposes peace comes at a cost, after all.

But it will be worth it all in the end.

It has to be.

Otherwise, this has all been for naught, and Lauren can’t possibly deal with that possibility in the slightest. 

____

**march 1st, XX27**

He isn’t anywhere to be found.

Lauren whips off the sheets in a hurry, storming down the stairs of the Sinclair Manor, only to find him in the kitchen, scrambling eggs in a cast-iron pan.

“What, did you think I left?”

“Don’t try me, White,” she groans, looping her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of it. “Or I really will shoot you this time.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He scans her up and down. “You stole my shirt.”

“Laundry day is tomorrow.”

“You still stole my shirt.”

“You have hundreds,” she says, yawning as she pours herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the wooden table. “How did you even know how I like my eggs?”

“I phoned Kym. She was all too eager to give me answers.”

“Of course she was,” she says, adjusting her bun. She sneaks a glance at him - still in his clothes from last night; he hadn’t bothered to change - and the truth of their situation washes over her like a cold rainshower in winter. 

When they’ve settled down across from each other, breaching the subject is tougher than breaking ice kilometers deep. How can she break what they have now? What they’ve built over a year of not trusting each other, and now being more vulnerable to each other than they’ve ever been?

“So—”

“The monarchy wants me to be their next queen,” is what comes out of her mouth next.

Kieran doesn’t go silent, instead, he smiles faintly. “I guessed they would pick you.”

She looks up from her eggs. “Already?”

“Who else would it be,” he says, waving his fork in the air, “between twelve incompetents or one half of the duo that saved this city?”

“Flatterer.”

“Not this time around.”

“They need you, too.”

“I doubt it. It wouldn’t exactly be _proper_ of you to have me by your side.”

“That’s your answer, then,” she says quietly. 

And now he is silent.

“They don’t deserve—”

“Not this again,” she hisses, hands gripping the edge of the table. “It doesn’t matter, their opinion of you. But that’s not what this is about, is it? You still think it’s a shame to be by my side because of our past - _your past._ ”

“There are long shadows cast by my past, Sinclair.”

“And you think I don’t know that? You didn’t think I actually walked into this relationship expecting everything to be perfect, did you? We’re together now because I knew this wouldn’t be perfect in the first place.”

“What are we, truly?” he asks, no lightness to be found in his voice now. “You never officially declared me your partner.”

“Don’t you dare pull this now.”

“Because duty comes first, doesn’t it?!”

She stands up, slamming her hands down. _“I don’t have a choice.”_

“You chose me,” Kieran says slowly, mouth a flat line of disappointment. 

“And I never once regretted it.”

Is what she should’ve said, but didn’t, and instead chose to silently watch Kieran pick up his coat and leave the manor without a single word. The faucet is still dripping when he leaves, but she doesn’t bother to shut it off.

For the longest time, Lauren has been fueled by revenge.

And now that that is gone, in its place is a sense of superficial duty.

Even she admits that. It’s the only thing she has left. And now Kieran has pointed out that side of her - but it’s a side she can’t bear to live without. If she lets go, she will drown.

This is how it ends, then.

____

**october 11th, XX28**

“You’re early.”

Kieran reluctantly smiles up at Belladonna. “I missed you.”

“Aren’t you sweet as ever,” she teases, nudging him. Her pink hair is swept to the side, and her makeup is nowhere to be seen in the morning hours. She cracks her door open wide, but he holds up a hand.

“There’s someone I have to meet soon, so I have to be quick, Bella.”

“Is it bad?” she asks, worry coming over her face.

“No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just--”

_She left, and now I don’t want to be too late._

“Her.”

He moves to cover it up as quick as he can, but Belladonna waves his efforts away. “You’ve got a terrible poker face, White. Even when you and I were working under Scythe. Never could hide what you were thinking.”

“Bella--”

“ _Go_.”

____

**march 2nd, XX27**

When she leaves, it is not because she wants to.

When he leaves, it is because she left. Lauren knows this, because she knows Kieran White like the back of her hand, but doesn’t quite want to admit it yet, and isn’t sure that she wants to. 

He will wake up to her side of the bed made perfectly, and an empty room free of her presence. There will be no familiar blue coat on the wall, nor her old wardrobe full of uniforms, nor her usual flowery scent filling the room. He will understand that this is the final straw, the final act, the drawing of the curtain. 

The end of the play in which they were performers for too long on.

As Lauren nears the castle in the automobile, she knows at least one truth.

She did not leave because it was the only thing to do.

She left because it was the only thing she _could_ do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic has no plot and it shows.


	2. i'll be making my lucky escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love you." The words are but a prayer, a beggar's last hope on his lips. "I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;  
>  “They called me the hyacinth girl.”  
> —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,  
> Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not  
> Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither  
> Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,  
> Looking into the heart of light, the silence.  
> Oed’ und leer das Meer*._   
>  **  
>  _-THE WASTE LAND, T.S ELIOT_   
>  **
> 
>   
>  **dedicated to: second chances, for you have given many a far kinder love than they could have hoped for.**
> 
> ***Translation: “Desolate and empty is the sea.” From Acts One and Three of the play “Tristan un Isolde.”**

**october 24th, XX28**

**(four days until the coronation)**

Lauren fiddles with the crown in her hands.

It’s a heavy thing, really. Heavier than it looks. On the queen’s head, it had looked like a simple ringlet of gold with sharp points like rays of sun on the end, but up-close, she realizes the whole affair is studded with jewels, sapphires and rubies and diamonds of miniscule size dotting the rim. And in the center three points are set with round sapphires, the center one larger than the last. 

She breathes, and tries it on.

In the mirror, she can no longer recognize the girl she used to be.

Child, teenager, trainee, detective, officer, queen.

It’s worth it.

It has to be.

“Lauren?” Tristan is calling her name from the doors of the throne room. “Are you alright in there?”

“Perfectly fine,” she says, willing herself to believe it. “I’m perfectly fine.”

____

Kieran has left, for the most part, a bloody trail in the wake of his footsteps. Perhaps that is why it is so difficult, then, to wash all of it off and repair what he has broken - because for six years of his life, all he has known is how to ruin, not rebuild.

He wishes he could repair it all.

He wishes he could ask her to stay by his side.

He does not.

She’s miles away from him in the Ardhalis High Council room, her advisors talking in her ears as the chatter of the room goes on and on about countless topics on the rehabilitation of the city: how the Scythe’s remaining members should be dealt with, infrastructure repairs, restoration costs, new celebrations to be heralded at the beginning of spring.

Spring. He hasn’t even given thought to the new season. Pink blossoms hover on every tree and bush of the city, spores floating like golden specks in the air. It worsens Kym’s allergies, but Kieran supposes he finds it peaceful - or would, at least, find it peaceful, were it not for the constant mess going on in his mind.

“Your input, White?”

“Hmm?”

“The queen is asking your opinion on the sentencing on former Scythe members.”

He can’t read her eyes.

They’re veiled, behind fog that seems to hide her true feelings away from him. She’s taken to wearing her hair up in a rigid bun, only a few strands poking out here and there. A set of gold teardrops earrings dangles from her earlobes. Opals, he realizes. Her birthstone.

October was her birthday month. It feels like a world away now.

“Pardons for those who were rebelling against the Leader,” he hears himself say. “And capital sentences, executions, for those who obeyed with free will, or took pleasure in going against Ardhalis.”

Lauren meets his gaze. There is nothing behind it. He needs to talk to her. 

He wonders if she will let him talk at all.

____

“Your Majesty.”

She whirls around at the sound of his voice.

Today, Lauren has taken to wearing a golden dress. It’s been a while since she’s worn one at all, really, and this one she knows her advisors approve of. It’s ankle length, a shade of champagne that flows in the wind, billowy sleeves that hike up to her elbows with a high collar. The lights above nearly match the color of her gown. They also cast rays of sun into Kieran White’s eyes, eyes that she has not seen in days - weeks - centuries.

Her heart leaps in her chest at the mere sight of him. White shirt, black pants. Hair in its braid. He’s kept her ribbon.

Pink hair flashes before her eyes, and she looks down.

“You called?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Lauren’s hands curl in each other, two defenseless things seeking protection from a harsh world. Her pistol is long gone by now. Now she has nothing. “I know you do.”

“Lauren-”

“But even if you do,” she says, and her voice is high and cold, like the queens of long past, “it won’t change anything.”

____

**march 15th, XX27**

Will bursts into her room at the speed of light.

She can’t see his face from the tears in her eyes, but she can feel his concern in the way he immediately wraps her up in his arms, cradling her as if she is fragile, fragile enough to break. Outside, the trees wave their newfound leaves in the air, to herald in the new season.

Inside, Lauren is falling apart.

“I miss him,” she whispers into his shirt, wetting the fabric as tears drip down her cheeks. “I miss him.”

“I know,” Will says, stroking her hair. “It’ll pass.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“If it doesn’t,” he says, inhaling sharply, “then it means he was a fool for letting you run astray.”

____

**october 25th, XX28**

**(three days until the coronation)**

She stands down one of her worst fears today.

She just wishes he would be at her side while she did.

“This doesn’t prove anything through law,” Tim Sake says, voice a low monotone as he looks up at her through lidded eyes, hands cuffed behind his back. She stands as the high ruler of this land, now, in the center of the court besides judge and jury. Lady Justice herself, a rebirthed woman from her old shell borne out of anger and fury that she used to call vengeance; nemesis. “I helped the Scythe through business transactions. It was never about harming Ardhalis.”

“Significant reason as that may be, it isn’t enough,” she bites out, voice sharp and dangerously soft. “And the _law_ has enough evidence to prove you deserve quite the sentence.”

“You know of all things, Your Majesty, that this was never about the revolution,” he says, cocking his head to the side. Lauren tries not to shake as he smiles at her. “They go after us, we go after them. The monarchy wanted to hurt the city, and we went after the monarchy and the city. There’s no goodness to be found on either side.”

“And now I see why the Leader made you one of his pets,” she spits. 

“Your Majesty-”

“It’s alright, Judge Maxmillien.” She bends down to whisper in the old man’s ear. “I’m not quite a full queen yet, but if it’s alright, I’d like to deliver the sentence myself. How long do you need for a full decision?”

“Not by much,” the judge says, eyes darting to look over the man in chains. “He’ll serve life, for sure.”

“I can only hope his former accomplice doesn’t catch word,” she mutters under her breath, straightening her spine. “Sake.”

“Yes.”

“Under my hand and the Ardhalis High Court, we’ve significant enough evidence to prove you guilty of all charges and worthy of a life sentence in prison.”

The gavel bangs down like a drum.

“Just be grateful I haven’t your head, you disgusting swine,” she growls into his ear, smiling at the cameras when they come.

____

“So,” Kym says, tossing a dart at the dartboard, watching it hit the middle spot-on, “it didn’t go well?”

“Not in the slightest,” Kieran says, clearly disgruntled as he aims for the center, dart landing only slightly to the side. He bristles as Kym whoops with glee, nudging him as she teases him about how bad he is at darts. He won’t even question why she has a dartboard with Hermann’s face on it - printed to a huge dimension - in the living room of her house. Will, currently occupied on the couch, doesn’t seem to question it.

He won’t question their past, either. There are some loves that are borne out of mutual hate.

“How long before you get an audience with her?”

“Only at the coronation, which leaves me hopeless,” he says, flopping next to Will, who ruffles his hair like a disgruntled puppy. He’s too tired to bat the blonde’s arm away. “I don’t know how I’ve gotten myself into this mess.”

“Oh, you know exactly how.”

He glares at her.

“Fine, fine. But you’ve gotten yourself into quite the spectacle, mister.” She plops next to him on the couch, poking his forehead. “What were you thinking, letting her go like that?”

“She...had her duty. And I had mine.”

“You’re both idiots,” Will drones from beside him. “Both of you. Seriously. How’d you even manage as Lune?”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Williame.”

“Not _you_ too.”

“You do know that if you’re going to go after her, you’ll become king, right?”

“Which I don’t think the city is ready for,” Kieran mutters, looking down at his hands. “If I were...consort, even, I think they’d be better with it, but the distrust will last a while.”

“Is this what you want?”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Because some foolish part of him leaps at the thought and shouts _yes, yes it is._

_I know this is what I’ve wanted since I saw her that day and the years after, because I will be alright as long as I am with her._

_You’d get your studio and I’d help with the court on the side,_ she’d said sometime in a morning shower of sunlight, glowing as she had looked at him, the most beautiful thing in the world. Red and black together, a perfect harmony on the balcony. _You could draw, Kieran. You could do what you would always wanted to do._

_Because we’d be on top of the world?_ he’d asked, chuckling as she pulled him in for a kiss.

_I’ll settle for the city._

“Maybe. But it doesn't matter anyhow.” He sighs. "Lauren doesn't want me. Not like I want her."

“Idiot,” Kym snorts, and chucks a pillow at his head.

____

**april 1st, XX27**

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY,_ shouts the banner in the office as the 11th precinct rushes to greet the newly anointed Captain and Commander. Kym and Will are bombarded with showers of hugs, and nearly lose their hearing at the sound of a party horn being blasted at full level. 

She manages to squeeze through the throng of people, carting a teal box with a bow on it.

“April Fool’s,” Lauren says sheepishly, trying for her widest smile. “I promise this one isn’t a joke.”

“You’re the best,” Kym says, full-on bear hugging her. She stumbles back, laughing as Kym pries herself off her, tearing into the gift. Her eyes fill with tears of joy as she holds up a silver pocketwatch, this one fully running.

“Open it.”

“Laur-”

“Open it.” She shrugs. “Trust me.”

Kym obeys, and stumbles back, a hand clamped over her mouth as the clock clicks open to reveal a hidden inner clock and a portrait of a boy inside.

_Daniel Ladell,_ the inscription reads. And below it: _AD LUCEM._

“It’s more symbolic than anything,” Lauren says, scratching at her neck. “Moving forward, towards the light, and all that-”

Kym promptly yanks Will and Lauren both forward, burying herself in their embraces.

She doesn’t need to say _you’re welcome,_ because she knows that whatever the three of them face in the future, it’ll be more than enough than a simple acknowledgement of what they’ve done for one another.

So she lets herself be held.

____

(The only problem was that three was now four, and the fourth Lauren didn’t want to think about.)

____

**october 26th, XX28**

**(two days until the coronation)**

“I didn’t expect you of all people to come here.”

Lauren doesn’t show her confusion as she opens the door wide for the former Scythe member to walk into the castle. Her eyes widen as she takes in the decorations: the staff of Ardhalis castle have taken to decorate the entire place in gold and white; roses dot the wreaths that are wrung around the entire palace, baubles hang from the ceiling like crystal balls. The chandeliers have been washed clean, and everything sparkles. She’s too afraid to touch anything at this point.

It’s beautiful - all of it, but it hardly feels like home.

The ache in her chest will not recede.

“Ah, there’s that look.”

“What look?!” she demands, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You and him,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You have that same look in your eyes whenever you think about each other. Pining. I recognize that look. It’s the same look puppies get whenever they get sappy.”

“I am literally your queen.”

“So try beheading me,” Bella simpers, and Lauren glares.

“If you’re here for him, it’s a useless cause.” She ignores the way her heart jumps as she starts walking the length of the hallway, knowing that her companion trails her not far behind. “Kieran’s not becoming king, nor consort. So don’t bother.”

“It’s my business, because he’s not with me anymore.”

Lauren freezes.

“That’s not-”

“Oh, it is,” she says, smirking. “But still, I give it to you two. You’ve kept it going this long. You and this sense of duty you cling to like a second skin. I can smell it, Sinclair. It reeks of lies.”

“You know nothing about me,” the brunette growls, coming face to face with her.

“Maybe not,” Bella says, shrugging. “But what I do know is that you two are more similar than you’d ever admit. More similar in what you feel for each other than you know.”

_“Belladonna.”_

“Think about it,” she says, and leaves Lauren in the dust as she struts out the castle.

____

**april 5th, XX27**

  
  


For once, she doesn’t dream of a garden and Dylan.

This is how the dream goes:

Snow whips across a plain like knives; yet softens and cauterizes the dead land around it like a blanket of hush. Hail threatens and strikes at a prairie as harsh as a fire, and leaves cuts in the soil barely increments across the grass. Rain pools at her feet and theirs’, the wafting scent of life and humid earth an embrace on Lauren’s neck as she lifts off her metal helmet and throws it to the ground. Then her greaves, hands peeling off the metal wisps of sabatons as if they barely weigh half a pound.

“How long does that take to take off completely?!” shouts a prince in the muffled wind, black hair whipping across his forehead and showing off his crown. Pale pink lips cross into a smile, and Lauren’s chest bursts into absolute _wanting,_ fingers now trembling as they cross between the leather straps of her chest plate, and - there, onto the ground, and she can finally start running, and the world no longer has to lift all of its burdens onto her. 

“Am I going to have to run all the way to meet you, prince?” she screams, throat raw and heart burning; reforging itself into something similar to molten metal aglow in a pit. 

_Kieran. Kieran. Kieran._

“Come to me,” he says, and it’s a whisper and a desperate call. 

“Come to me, Lauren, and don’t leave me ever again.”

Fire, she learns, can be beneficial to human life as long it does not involve the cuts and bruises and blood of wars, and she sets them both aflame as the two collide, forming a silver and black blur whipping circles around the soil at high speed, damp hairs sticking to each other in some mocking imitation of a saturated gradient. Kieran’s mouth devours hers completely, and the heat from his hands crystallizes the heat in her chest, smoothing it over into a beast satiated. 

“You missed me-” Lauren manages to say.

“You missed me _more,_ ” Kieran teases, but the light in his eyes further confirms her suspicions about who really missed the other more. “I’m back. I’m not going anywhere.”

She smiles bittersweetly, and realizes she can no longer taste the rain on her lips. “Lie.”

“What?”

“That’s a lie,” she says softly, touching her forehead to his as the world splinters apart. 

Lauren’s eyes snap open.

“Ah,” she whispers, hand outstretched to the ceiling. “In which I wake.”

____

**october 27th, XX28**

**(one day until the coronation)**

She is trembling.

Her nerves are this close to breaking.

“Is this to your liking, Your Majesty?” the royal courtier asks, and Lauren snaps her eyes open. 

The coronation gown is a dark, almost burnished velvet, that pools at her feet and goes up to her neck, held up only by a loop of pearls that look too heavy to wear. Her opal earrings sparkle in the light, but the only difference now is that a crown rests on her head, and its burden is too heavy to bear.

“I-”

She breaks.

“Your Majesty, are you alright?”

Lauren’s resolve snaps in half.

“The bridge,” she croaks out, and hikes up the hem of her dress. “Don’t send the royal guard after me.”

_“Your Majesty-”_

Lauren’s halfway to twisting open the door when she nearly runs into Tristan on the other side, eyes wide with surprise when he finds his niece running in three-inch heels.

“Uncle,” she breathes, the courtier behind her seconds away from a heart attack. “Please don’t block me this time.”

He exhales.

“Go.”

She runs.

Off come her heels, then her crown. She wonders what the royal jewelers will think of thousands of dollars worth of prizes possessions scattered on the castle grounds, but no more. Lauren heads straight for the bridge, pink petals whistling in the air as people stare. Water hits the top of her head, and she raises a hand to protect herself from the rain tumbling down, showering a newly crowned city of life.

She needs-

_Admit it,_ her mind shouts. _Admit it._

Her feet ache. 

The storm is growing worse. 

People are ducking inside and lifting umbrellas as the rain continues to thunder down on Ardhalis, and Lauren nearly slips on the cobblestones as she rounds a corner, watching as the streets part to reveal River Westbourne, and above it the bridge where she and Will had stood long ago.

Across the bridge is Kieran.

Lauren stops in her tracks, rain soaking her to the bone.

It looks as if she no longer needs to cross that line.

He is waiting for her.

On the other side, just as wet as she is. 

She can’t tell whether or not the water slipping down her cheeks is from her tears, but it doesn’t matter at this point.

Lauren runs.

So does Kieran.

And when they collide, it is hesitant yet consuming, hands scrabbling for purchase, for each other. She bursts into laughter, grabbing onto his collar as he grins incredulously. 

“You really shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, I know.”

“The coronation-”

“I’m willing,” he says, and when he reaches for her, so tenderly, hands on either side of her face, she knows he means it. “I want to try, at least. With you. And it’ll be alright, somehow. Because I love you." The words are but a prayer, a beggar's last hope on his lips. "I love you."

"We'll be married, you realize that, right?" she says, and Lauren hears her voice come out in a set of high-pitched giggles, carefree like a girl's. "You don't have a problem with black and gold, do you?"

"Blue," he says, stroking her hair behind her ear. "For my tie, at least. I'm matching you, officer, and there are no doubts about it. We'll do hyacinths for the wedding, except they won't be purple ones, because we don't to trigger the entirety of Ardhalis again-"

"And make Kym the flower girl," she says, looping her arms around his neck. "I can't wait to see what disasterous antics she and Will pull this time."

Yes.

For now, she is happy.

“I love you," she whispers into his mouth, his ear. "I love you. I won’t leave, ever.”

“I won’t either,” he promises, and their lips meet.

The rain continues to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I TOLD YOU ALL TO HAVE FAITH IN ME AND LOOK AT WHAT I'VE DONE NOW!!!
> 
> (this chapter is best read with Keane's 'Somewhere Only We Know' on repeat.)


End file.
